


tsukuyomi

by heartw0rms



Category: Naruto
Genre: Autistic Uchiha Itachi, Chronic Illness, Genjutsu, M/M, Oh No He's Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 14:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15974465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartw0rms/pseuds/heartw0rms
Summary: If Itachi kisses Sasori in the dream realm of Tsukuyomi it doesn't count. He knows it isn't real.





	tsukuyomi

**Author's Note:**

> So I was messing around with some interactions between Sasori and Itachi in preparation for a fic where they're Akatsuki partners and my nightmare goblin of a brain went SHIP!! THEM!! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> I write Itachi as autistic because as an autistic person it's the only way that a single one of his decisions makes any sort of sense to me.

"Sit still," Sasori says, pressing green glowing hands to Itachi's bare chest. Itachi is absolutely rigid. He doesn't like people touching him. "I am no Senju Tsunade. I'm better at taking people apart than putting them back together. I can alleviate the symptoms if you return for regular treatment, but your condition is going to continue to deteriorate," Sasori cautions him.  
  
"Deidara and I return biweekly to the Iwagakure base so he can collect a particular type of clay," Sasori continues distastefully. "Could you and Kisame manage to rendezvous with us?"  
  
"Medication would be more convenient," Itachi says. He doesn't want to have to endure the indignity of an examination every two weeks. Even though he is breathing easier as the medical chakra seeps into his lungs, it isn't worth having to answer invasive questions and be stared at like Sasori is considering dissecting him and reassembling the pieces in the wrong places.  
  
"If I prescribe something will you take it consistently?" Sasori fires back. "Of course, I could always create a puppet body for you. You wouldn't have to worry about feeling pain, or pleasure, or your body starting to decay. This illness would be irrelevant, and your beauty would be preserved forever, eternal and unchanging." Itachi cannot tell if Sasori is making a distasteful joke or a genuine offer.  
  
"I would prefer the medication," he says slowly. "Are you almost finished?'  
  
"Nearly. Tell me when you can breathe without pain. It really _would_ be more efficient for me to continue treating you in person," Sasori grumbles under his breath, but he doesn't push. "You _are_ aware that the Akatsuki provides healthcare expenses?" he asks sharply. "Kakuzu would not stop bitching about it when I first joined up."  
  
"Yes, Kisame informed me," Itachi says. "You can stop now." His chest still aches faintly, but it's good enough.  His thoughts are a confusing snarl where he can't tell whether it's a trust issue or whether he thinks he doesn't deserve to be able to breathe without it hurting.  
  
Sasori raises an eyebrow as if to ask _Really? You want me to stop now?_ "You have a habit of ignoring your health," he says lightly. He pulls his hands away from Itachi's chest, medical chakra flickering out. He meets Itachi's eyes with a sharp look. "How long have you been hiding the symptoms, Itachi? Are you trying to act tough? Or you not care if you're dying because you wish you were already dead?"  
  
The pointed question cuts straight to the core of him. Desperate panic swims up Itachi's throat. _(He only plans to cling to life long enough for Sasuke to kill him.)_ How does Sasori know? Was it a lucky guess? Did Itachi tell him to cut the medical chakra too soon? Sasori can't be allowed to know these things — he _absolutely can’t_ _—_ Itachi's chest tightens and it _hurts—_  
  
Itachi's Mangekyō swirls into being and he pulls Sasori into a genjutsu before Sasori notices his panic. _If he reminds Sasori not to dare to speak of things he does not understand—_  
  
_[[["What is this?" Sasori demands, tilting his head imperiously at Itachi as his eyes flicker from the bloody moon of Itachi's Tsukuyomi to the monochrome shadows, cataloguing details. Sasori tugs at the cuffs where he is pinned against the crucifix, and they tighten further. "Visual genjutsu do not usually affect me." He sounds insulted and reluctantly impressed. "Did I say something you didn't want to hear? Am I here for a demonstration?" Sasori says cattily._  
  
_"This is my Tsukuyomi," Itachi explains. "Time is extended here. A period of three days is condensed into three seconds in the real world. Tell me, can you feel pain in a genjutsu?" (Itachi is unaffected. He is in control. This is his realm, and Sasori can talk back all he wants, but it will not effect this reality.)_  
  
_"An interesting experiment," Sasori muses. He is so impertinent! Itachi stabs him. Sasori bleeds, because Itachi anticipated blood._  
  
_"Hypothesis proven," Sasori gasps. It turns into a laugh. "But just because I've eliminated human sensations from my body doesn't mean that when I could feel pain that I was_ weak _about it," he says dryly. "I_ am _a shinobi." So he is, and numerous shinobi have broken under this genjutsu. Itachi stabs him again, and again. Sasori stares at the blood like he isn't sure what to make of it. His hair pools and curls in a nonexistent breeze, shadows flickering and throwing his skin into sharp contrast._  
  
_Is Sasori unsettled yet? Itachi examines his expression. Sasori lifts his chin at his attention. He looks like he is fascinated, not hurting."It's only the memory of pain," he explains with an odd little smile._ What about the memory of pleasure? _Itachi wonders. Itachi hates being touched. How much must Sasori hate being touched for him to have locked himself away inside a puppet body and decided that sensation and emotion were a worthy sacrifice?_  
  
_The sword Itachi's holding dissolves with a thought. He requires skin contact for this next performance.  He encircles Sasori's wrist with his hand and carefully rubs gentle circles into the skin with his thumb. (Sometimes bad ideas seem perfectly reasonable in the dream realm of genjutsu. He is only doing this to get a negative reaction.)_  
  
_"What... are you doing?" Sasori asks guardedly, leaning as far away from Itachi as possible. The light spills like ink across Sasori's face._  
  
_"It occurred to me that pleasure could be just as unsettling as pain," Itachi says, tilting his head and staring into Sasori's eyes, wide and fever-bright. "Perhaps even more so."_  
  
_"You_ wouldn't," _Sasori says, scandalized._  
  
_"I would," Itachi counters, missing the context entirely. Sasori ducks his head and makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat. Itachi rubs slow, inexorable circles into the inside of his wrist. It seems this technique is far more effective than pain at getting under Sasori's skin._  
  
_"I'm not... fully functional," Sasori mumbles, clenching and unclenching one fist in the cuff as if to dislodge Itachi's touch from his wrist._  
  
_Itachi pauses. "I don't know what you mean."_  
  
_"I don't have anything down_ there, _okay!?" Sasori snaps. "So just stop, there's nothing_ there, _whatever you're planning_ isn't going to work on me!" _he snarls, and the context that Itachi was missing finally clicks into place and he ashamedly pulls his hand away from Sasori's wrist as if burned. The red moon shivers. This is the most raw emotion Itachi has ever seen on Sasori's face._  
  
_"I would never subject anyone to that," Itachi explains very carefully. "I thought because you have eliminated sensation that touch would disgust you."_  
  
_"We work for a criminal organization," Sasori spits, "what am I supposed to think about what you get up to in your spare time with your genjutsu victims when you pin me up to the BDSM post and start_ touching _me?" The crucifix shudders. Sasori eyes it warily. "And I have exchanged pleasure for eternal beauty. It was a worthwhile trade. It had nothing to do with disliking being touched." Then his face lights up in a victorious little smile._ "You _dislike being touched," Sasori says softly. "That's why you assumed. Your entire fighting style is based around avoiding it." (The moonlight shivers again. How Itachi hates him in that moment.)_  
  
_Sasori is a dangerous, dangerous man. Shackled up in the middle of Itachi's genjutsu and still determined to get the upper hand. But Itachi can play that game too. "So is your fighting style," Itachi points out. He trails his fingers up Sasori's arm, determined to make Sasori hate him, and Sasori makes another tiny bitten-off sound. "I think you dislike this just as much as I do." Itachi rests his palm on the juncture between Sasori's neck and shoulder and strokes his thumb back and forth along his clavicle. (The moment crystalizes like the airy sort of nightmare where the sensation of something going desperately wrong hovers just out of sight for no real reason that Itachi can discern.)_  
  
_"Fair. And wrong," Sasori's voice is rough and thready. "I don't make a habit of lying to my allies." Itachi is small but Sasori is smaller still. Even pinned up to the cross Sasori is still looking up at him. Itachi drags his hand up the side of Sasori's neck and cups his face, and Sasori shivers hard. He turns his cheek into Itachi's hand and says slowly, viciously, "Itachi, if you stop right now_ I swear I will poison you." _The moonlight limns Sasori's skin in rusty reds, and Itachi stares at him panting into his palm and realizes dazedly_ oh, he likes it, _and then Sasori is sucking his thumb into his mouth which is wet, but not warm, (it could be warm if Itachi_ wanted _it to be—) and Itachi wonders how much of this is an act on Sasori's part because surely it must be._  
  
_Sasori presses his teeth into the pad of Itachi's thumb and then draws back and orders, "Itachi. Get_ down here. _Don't keep me waiting." Itachi has always had difficulties resisting orders, but he doesn't want to give in. Sasori reaches out and yanks him forward by the collar and crushes their mouths together. The moon is eclipsed by a shock of heat. As Sasori's hands settle in Itachi's hair he wonders when exactly he made the executive decision to release the cuffs around Sasori's wrists. Sasori's mouth is inhumanly soft and wet and this is closer than Itachi has ever wanted to be with any of his coworkers, oh_ god.  
  
_Sasori makes that same choked-off moan directly into Itachi's mouth and as a spark of uncomfortable heat settles into his abdomen he decides that whatever this is, has gone entirely too far. Whatever intimidation game Sasori is playing, he has definitely won. Itachi breaks the genjutsu.]]]_  
  
Sasori blinks dazedly at Itachi. He touches his lips, and the places on his torso that were bleeding. Then he shakes his head slightly, gathers his bearings and demands, "Why did you _stop?"_ He levels Itachi with a brazen look that shoots heat down Itachi's spine and strides forward and climbs him like a tree. He settles in Itachi's lap, cornering him between his body and the makeshift examination table. Itachi is acutely aware of Sasori's weight on his thighs. He feels so much more solid than in the hazy dream-state of the genjutsu. Sasori's arms settle around Itachi's neck and that texture is viscerally _wrong,_ shooting nails-on-chalkboard pins and needles across his skin. Sasori sinks his teeth into Itachi's neck and he shudders because that feels so good, _too_ good, and he doesn't trust Sasori's intentions one bit. Just because something seems like a good idea in a genjutsu does _not_ mean that it is a bright idea in reality.  
  
"Please stop," Itachi says hoarsely. Sasori pulls away and stares at him, examining his expression, and Itachi feels the jittery impulse to break eye contact because Sasori sees more than most people do. He feels stripped bare before his gaze. It has less to do with the physical intimacy and much more with the fact that Sasori deals in information and he's talented at it.  
  
"Sorry," Sasori says wryly, "I shouldn't have assumed. What do you want, Itachi?"  
  
Itachi's breath catches because that is a question that is terrifying in its scope, and he doesn't have an answer. He wants Sasori to leave. He wants Sasori to stay. He doesn't want to exist. He wants to walk straight up to Danzō and show him just how dangerous he can be and take vengeance for his clan. He doesn't want that at _all._ He wants to turn back time and find a different answer, _any answer._ His chest hurts and he _trembles._  
  
"Can I touch your hair?" Sasori asks very softly in his ear. That is... a much easier question.  
  
"Yes," he acquiesces. Sasori pulls out the ribbon and Itachi's hair spills like silk over his shoulders. Sasori cards careful fingers through, careful not to touch his skin. Itachi would have never expected that Akasuna no Sasori could be considerate.  
  
"You don't trust me at all, do you," Sasori says, sending Itachi a considering look from under his lashes. Itachi is suddenly viscerally aware of just how attractive Sasori is, with his clouds of red hair and commanding voice and delicate features. Itachi truly doesn't trust him, and he despairs of being attracted to any of his colleagues in the Akatsuki. They are criminals. He is a criminal, but the difference is that he had his orders.  
  
Itachi swallows. "Stop trying to manipulate me," he says icily.  
  
"I'm not—!” Sasori protests. He buries his face in Itachi's neck and the sensation is rough and shivery and distracting and on this side of too much, but not as bad as it could be because Itachi's hair is at least providing a barrier. "I really liked the genjutsu. I'd like if we could do it again sometime," Sasori says tersely under his breath. He must be the first person to ever want to revisit Tsukuyomi, Itachi despairs. He has direly miscalculated. (But he can't ignore the spark of calculated pride at reducing Sasori to _this,_ to forcing him to feel something, no matter how desperately Itachi tries to squash it. If only he could experience the intimacy without Sasori's attempts to pick apart his psyche... _No. He's not going there.)_  
  
Itachi brings his hands up to rest on Sasori's shoulders, registering the strangeness of hard wood beneath his fingers instead of soft skin. "Can you feel anything, like this?" he wonders. He strokes slow circles into Sasori's shoulders with his thumbs and Sasori tilts his head back and bites his lip, eyes fluttering closed.  
  
"Just pressure," he says. "It's — ah — enough, in this context." His eyes flicker open a sliver and he asks somewhat desperately, "Itachi, can I kiss you?" Which is an improvement over the genjutsu. At least he's asking. Itachi breathes in, and out, and his chest hurts, and he decides that for once he isn't just going to cave completely in the face of someone else's desires. This feels good and maybe it's wrong and he doesn't deserve it but at least it'll be something _(besides sparing Sasuke)_ that he'll have decided on for himself.  
  
"If you don't touch me," he says. "Just let me touch you." There, that is his ultimatum. Sasori tosses his head and makes a tiny little needy sound that goes _right to Itachi's cock._ Sasori reluctantly removes his hands from Itachi's hair. He clenches and unclenches them as if he has to restrain them from reaching out again.  
  
"Agreed," Sasori says, "though that's not how I prefer to do these things." He sends Itachi another coy, heated look, and the way he says "How do you want me?" sounds exactly like _Itachi, get down here._ Itachi cups his face and kisses him. It is slow and syrupy and Sasori's mouth tastes like exactly nothing, and for all that this may be a terrible mistake it feels almost perfect.


End file.
